


Shapeshifters for Beginners

by RavenShira



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Hobbit Hunt by Dwarrows, How to catch a hobbit by Thorin Oakenshield, How to reveal teeth and fur to dwarrows (without getting skinned) by Bilbo Baggins, Magic, Minor Injuries, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Shapeshifter Bilbo Baggins, Shire Secrets, Warg!Bilbo Baggins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenShira/pseuds/RavenShira
Summary: When Bilbo got bitten by a warg in the Battle of Five Armies, he was just thankful he didn't die. Because that would have been a real possibility, if one considered where said wargs teeth had probably been buried in before. Several times. They had been bloody and gory and dirty!Anyways, he was alive and, surprisingly, the wound was healing well. Too well, if Bilbo was being honest and he couldn't help but think on a few Shire-stories that he had always thought to be too far-fetched to hold any truth.Or: The one where hobbits are sometimes able to shapeshift, if  triggered, and Bilbo had the unfortunate meeting with a warg.





	1. Of old ends and new beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!!!

The battle had been horrible. Bilbo, who had never been in any fight that had left more than a bloody nose at worst (before he had went on an insane quest to help out some homeless dwarrows), had been overwhelmed by the sheer mass of misery and destruction. During the battle he had been terrified out of his mind, so much that the hobbit wasn't sure he was remembering even half of what had happened, most of it being scrambled chaos, while some instances replayed in his mind as if slowed down my magic, every single detail etched into his mind to rewatch in the nightmares that were sure to follow.

 

Now the battle was over and Bilbo sat between corpses, wounded and upturned earth, feeling numb to the core. He watched as elves and dwarrows, who had nearly gone to war the day previous, stood side by side searching for survivors. It didn't matter which race the survivor was from, if found, be it elf or dwarf, or human... they were brought back to the healing area, a communal one since it would be more practical than having to worry about where the patients had to go.

 

It was strange to see them working together now and Bilbo was left wondering if the destruction and sheer madness had really been necessary to make them hold peace between each other. It also made him wonder if it was made to last, or if this was just an exception that would revert to hostility and war before long again. Bilbo's mind cowered away from that possibility, leaving him shaking and shuddering with tears in his eyes. He couldn't imagine going though a battle like that again. Ever. Just looking around was proof to him that nothing would ever be worth that, no pretty stones or riches, not even a home.

 

Home is where the heart lies. Bilbo was a firm believer of that, something that his mother had often said with a smile when he had asked her how she and his dad had gotten together, why she had left Tuckborough to live in Hobbiton. He had thought he understood, and in part he did. His heart had – for the longest time – lain in his hobbit hole. Much like Thorin's had lain in Erebor. But homes could be rebuild. No, home is where the heart is, and that was where family was, where the people you wanted to protect the most rested.

 

Now Bilbo wasn't sure where his heart rested. Right now it felt like it was torn apart between the Shire and wherever his dwarrows would go. For all that the Shire was home and always would be, it would never bring him the life he wanted. He had always been a little too different. As a child he had been to excitable, too adventurous. Too wild and eager to wander off, looking for elves. Later on he had tried to fit in, but it had been so lonely. He couldn't bring himself to pretend to love someone, when he didn't. Not really. He could never do that to himself, someone else or his parents memory.

 

Rivendell... Rivendell was peaceful. He could imagine himself growing old there, at peace. But it wasn't truly what he wanted. No. His heart had only ever beat in passion again, alive and joyful, since he had gotten to know his companions. Since Thorin entered his life and had somehow turned his world on his head. Stubbornly, insistingly and without really trying. Oh they had argued and Thorin had made his blood boil or freeze at times, from anger, indignation, fear and terror. But he had also made his heart swell with pride and sorrow, lauthter and pain, both shared.

 

“Master Hobbit?”

 

The address made Bilbo blink lazily up to the elf that was approaching him.

 

“Hm?” he hummed, his throat feeling scraped raw and blinking at the ethereal being feeling a little dazed as he came out of his thoughts. Turning towards the elf hurt so Bilbo stopped with a wince.

 

“Are you feeling quite well?” The elf had reached him and mustered him with a concerned frown, looking the hobbit up and down and noting the blood that was tickling down his arm, the rips in his clothes and the various scrapes and wounds.

 

“Quite well... well enough at least to not bother you until the more serious cases are dealt with...” Bilbo muttered with a small gesture over the battlefield, grimacing as the movement caused a dull pain to throb through his arm.

 

“Even small wounds can take a turn for the worse, if left untreated for too long.” the elf seemed to hold back a deep, disapproving frown as he put his bag on the ground next to Bilbo “I would like to take a look.” the elf made to grab Bilbo's arm, but hesitated before touching him and gave a crooked smile as he sheepishly added “With your permission.”

Bilbo let out a resigned sigh and a small shrug, careful not to jostle his arm too much.

 

“The worst is this bite. The others are just small scrapes,” Bilbo held out his arm to the elf. He had already washed the bite with water, hoping to starve off any infection, but a second look revealed that the bite was not half as bad as he remembered. Trauma, Bilbo guessed, had made him think it was much worse. It had been painful at the time, almost unbearably so. But then again it was not like Bilbo was used to getting mauled.

The elf was handling his injury carefully, washing the bite with an ointment that smelled sharp and burned in the torn flesh, but aside from a small whimper, Bilbo held still. He was too tired to argue so he let the elf tend to his other battle-wounds too, barely listening as the elf scold him about possible poison or infection and just nodded and hummed in appropriate places. When the elf finished, Bilbo was exhausted beyond measure and just said a quiet thank you, as he waved the elf off from escorting him to a camp. He had still not made his mind up as to where to go and what to do.

 

His gaze returned to the now bandaged arm and his lips twisted in a wry smile. In the Shire there were stories, told to fauntlings. Stories that should prevent the small ones from falling prey to animals, Bilbo thought fondly. Telling them that if they got bitten, they themselves would turn into animals and loose their hobbit way. So better not feed that poor, starving dog by hand. Leave the food at the ground for it to eat, if you must.

Sensible, Bilbo thought and mused how often he had repeated that particular story to the youngsters, loving the way their eyes turned huge when he described how they would turn into monstrous wolves and played up how sad their parents would be, if that happened and how wolves would never get invited in for biscuits and tea, and there would never be any dessert. A horrible life, that nobody wanted.

Well, if he ever returned home, he would have to hide that particular scar if he still wanted to install fear into their tiny, little hearts, the hobbit mused in fond remembrance.

 

Raising his gaze he looked at the three camps that surrounded the area of shared healing. Dwarrows, human and elves. He wondered where, if at all, he would fit and felt his shoulders slump.

 

He couldn't imagine going to the elves. They were nice, but Thranduil just rubbed him wrong, but maybe that was his experience from the woodland-realm speaking. And the elves of the woodland realm were so... distant. More vicious than the elves in Rivendell. And Bilbo had never felt particularly comfortable in the presence of those huge people, that all to often overlooked a simply hobbit as they went about their business, nearly running him over.

 

The humans... he was not sure how well he would be received after the horrible events that had practically made him an oath-breaker. Sure, he had tried to make up for that and had even given over his part of the treasure, but they were still eyeing him with distrust and scorn. Bard, the hobbit was sure, would welcome him and offer his protection. But he also had three mouths to feed and the other humans relied on him, making him take up the role of a leader in spite of his protests. Bilbo was loath to add to that burden.

And the dwarrows...

Bilbo longingly looked towards their tents, one tent standing out. Guards were practically surrounding the place where Thorin and his nephews were currently fighting for their lives. One of the only patients that were separated from the shared healing area.

With a sigh Bilbo turned away with a heavy heart. Thorin had banished him after all, and he was sure that going there, without Thorin conscious and able to rescind his banishment in front of witnesses, he would be at best thrown out roughly and at worst chased out at weapon-point. No, the dwarrows, while preferred, were not an option to him.

 

All of a sudden Bilbo felt incredibly alone. And homesick. He was the only one of his people here, and while he had never really fit into the Shire, there had been no denying that he had belonged there. Now he was an outsider, a burden, a betrayer and didn't know where to turn to. Gandalf had disappeared, Bilbo had seen neither hide nor hair from the wizard since they had separated in battle. He wondered if Gandalf had been injured, or if he was off for some other wizardly business and had forgotten about Bilbo.

 

With a sigh Bilbo slowly stood up, ignoring the aches as he slowly picked his way through the battleground towards the elvish area. He would ask for supplies and try to make do on his own until Thorin woke. _If_ he woke.

 

He avoided talking to any elves he had already met. He was already a familiar face for all of them, since Thorin had almost thrown him off the ramparts. Everybody knew the strange little halfling that had traded the Arkenstone and his treasure. The elf frowned at his request but subsided quickly, giving him a little bit of food and water, some medical supplies and a basic kit for survival. Flints to make a fire, a blanket that could also be used as a raincoat and a sleeping-bag. It was more than Bilbo had hoped for and he had thanked the elf earnestly, knowing that supplies were already running low even though the races tried to share the basics.

 

Afterwards he left. He dragged his feet over the battleground towards a corner, near the mountain, that had mostly been left untouched by the battle. It was close to the dwarven camp, but not too close that they would try and make him go away, even though some eyed him with suspicion and not even an hour later the guards near the entrance to Erebor had doubled.

 

Bilbo was fine with that. Riches, cold and gleaming, held no worth in his eyes after all.

Setting up a make-shift camp for one person was an experience. He had no wood to make a fire with, and no strength left to collect some. He used the blanket and environment to make a small rain-cover over the area he wanted to use for sleeping, nestled in between heavy rocks that had landed when the entrance of Erebor had exploded before Thorin had charged out into the fray. It hid him from view and provided cover from not only sight but also the elements such as wind. In the end Bilbo was rather happy with how it had turned out and without thinking further on it, he nestled down into his sleeping-bag and drifted off, the steady pulsating warmth of his injured arm following him into his dreams.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I went to this Halloween party and saw someone dressed up as a werewolf, fur and all. Cool huh? Yeah, and somehow that ended in me wanting Bilbo to be a were-something, or shapeshifter. I already have 2 other open stories so this. was. not. planned.  
> At all.  
> I'm not sure when I will write more but if the idea intrigues you, leave me a note. Reviews feed my writing-fenzy! They are the lifeblood of my stories. Besides, who doesn't want to see a Warg!Bilbo?? I'm not sure about the pairing eiher. I might do no pairing, I'm partial for Bilbo/Thorin but since I'm already doing that in another story I might go for something else here... if you have a wish, you can say so.  
> I will not promise to continue/finish this story, my main concern is my other story for now. I'll write on it whenever I find time or my muse forces me to.


	2. Triggered

The wind whistled past his ears, ruffling his hair. He was running, simply for the enjoyment of the movement, to feel the earth fly past below him as he rapidly approached his destination. He was fast as the wind, and he felt invincible! If someone had followed him, Bilbo was sure he could have easily outrun them now, but there were no predators stalking him right now.

He could smell something, that reminded him of the Shire during the winter markets, cinnamon and dry hay and the fruity smell of something sweet, scents that drifted through the cold air. He felt free and unbound and even the darkness wasn't all that scary, the moon lightened up the world around him in a silvery glow that let him see shapes and beauty as he ran past. In a way, the rhythmic motion was soothing, and the scents provided comfort as memories of joyful times resurfaced.

A branch breaking sounded like a gunshot in the still nightair and-

 

Bilbo sat up, flailing his arms as something tangled around his body. Finally the sleeping bag slipped down and Bilbo realized he must have nearly buried himself in the warm linen. They smelled good. Now his breath was fogging in the cool air of his resting place but his senses were going high-wire. He could smell the battlefield still, the scent almost overpowering strong now. Bilbo spared a second to wonder about that, since the cool night air should have slowed the rot and he would have thought the smell would be stronger during the day.

The hobbit jumped as another branch broke, his fingers fumbling for his sword as he sought to arm himself while he quickly struggled out of his sleeping bag. It took him a second longer than he would have liked to get free, seconds that could easily cost him his life as no one else was watching his camp. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, so loud and strong that Bilbo was sure whatever it was must be able to hear it too. Kneeling in the dirt he held one hand pressed to the earth, as if seeking reassurance from the ground itself while his other hand raised the sword a little bit higher, seeking to protect himself from a sudden assault while making himself as small a target as possible. Maybe whatever was out there would pass by without seeing him. Anxiously he held his breath, straining his ears instead to pick up what hat originally ripped him out of his dreams.

 

There. Footsteps. Heavy stomps on loose and soggy earth. Slowly he rose to his feet, using the boulders that hid him from sight to steady himself in the darkness. Bilbo pressed himself against the stones and tried to take courage in the fact that his blade remained dark. There was no blue glow that heralded the arrival of enemies, but Bilbo was not sure if his sword would protect him from scavengers and predators as well. He rather doubted it.

 

Then again, those footsteps did sound rather familiar. Some tension in Bilbo's shoulders lessened but he didn't dare lower his weapon in case he was wrong.

 

It took longer than Bilbo thought it should for the glow of a lantern to flicker to life. Then a pair of dwarrows rounded the corner and visibly startled at seeing him with his weapon at hand glowering at them.

Lowering Sting a little to show he meant no harm, but not enough to be completely harmless in case the dwarrows were seeking to 'avenge' their king or whatever bullheaded reason had led them over to his place, he raised an eyebrow and croaked out with a sleep-dry voice that dared them to explain their presence.

 

“Good evening.” from the way he held himself as well as his dark frown, as he blinked into their light, the dwarrows exchanged looks that reminded him too much of Kíli and Fíli whenever they had been caught doing something they shouldn't. It literally screamed 'busted'.  
  


“Mighty sorry to have woken you.” one of the dwarrows finally forced out while eyeing Bilbo's sword. Hesitatingly he lowered it all the way and finally sheathed Sting, deeming them no threat. For now. Not that he would have been able to overpower two battle-worn dwarrows but they could harldy know that, right?

 

“Just looking.” the other dwarrow said “Thought we would see if everything is all right over here.” translate? Looking if Bilbo was still where he was supposed to be, since there was no fire. Otherwise Bilbo was sure they would have combed through Erebor just to be sure that he wasn't inside.

It was a possibility with his ring, after all, even though Bilbo doubted they knew about that.

 

“Done looking then?” he asked instead, and really, he was too tired to care for how rude he sounded. He felt defensive, a little threatened, exhausted and they had just scared him for practically no reason at all.

 

The dwarrow on the left nodded, then they both turned. For whatever reason the second dwarrow hesitated, then he put the lantern on the ground.

“It's not much but a little light might offer you some comfort.” The dwarrow shrugged at Bilbos suspicious look, turned around and followed after his companion.

Bilbo turned to look at the small lantern, not sure if he should be relieved to have light, suspicious if they just wanted to draw unnecessary attention to his spot, or suspicious if they simply wanted to confirm where he was, based on the light.

Whatever it was, for not Bilbo decided to be thankful and warm his cold hands on the little light, before crawling back into his make-shift bed. He decided to put he tiny flame out. He didn't want to take any risks, and it wouldn't do to waste the small candle that was standing inside the lantern.

 

When Bilbo fell back to sleep again, his dreams were restless and dark, filled with screams and the smell of blood and wet earth.

 

。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。

 

The next day Bilbo rose with the sun. His limps felt stiff, as the cold had seeped through his sleeping gear and now seemed to have settled in his bones. Tired, despite having slept for the whole night in spite of the interruption, Bilbo settled for a quick breakfast, before he set out to find some wood. He wanted to be warm again and a small fire would go far to reach that goal. And the movement helped relax his stiff muscles, warming them with exercise.

 

Wood was scarce. The desolation was barren and Bilbo only found a few sticks and branches, mostly small and wet with morning dew. Discouraged and his mood sinking by the second Bilbo returned to 'his camp' and tried to make do with what he had. Pressing his lips together he stubbornly hit the flints together, creating sparks and trying to light a fire with the damp wood and some dry leaves he had been able to find.

 

“Come. On...!” finally and with sore hands a spark landed on a dry-enough leaf and a tiny plume of smoke rose. Quickly Bilbo fell on his knees and tried to encourage the little spark to become a flame, gently blowing on it, making the glow flare and recede.

 

Then it flickered out.

 

“ _Fusak!_ ” lashing out the branches scattered, the flints struck the opposite boulder and Bilbo sprang to his feet, punching the boulder behind him in a fit of anger that nearly clouded his vision in read.

Breathing heavily Bilbo closed his eyes and hung his head, taking several deep breaths to calm himself down. He was a little startled at his behaviour. If he knew himself well, he was usually a very controlled and polite, if not soft spoken person. Unless he was angered, then he gladly sharpened his tongue, but politeness had been ingrained into him from his mothers lap.

Then again, this was hardly normal. Extenuating circumstances might lead to some abnormal behaviour.

 

With a sigh Bilbo gathered the scattered sticks and put them on a pile. He hoped they would be able to dry until evening, so maybe he could make a small fire later on. Maybe he could sneak into one of the camps and get a bit of dry firewood too. Even the humans wouldn't let him freeze to death, he hoped.

 

His fingers were sore, but it was only now that Bilbo remembered that the arm, which he had used to punch a stone, was the same arm that had been mauled by a warg on the previous day. In that case the hit should have hurt a lot more than it actually did. Right now his knuckles were sore, but the rest of the arm seemed to be fine.

 

Bemused Bilbo settled on his sleeping-bag and slowly unwrapped the bandages. When they fell away Bilbo was left staring at the slightly reddened, yet completely healed skin. There was a scar, that would probably fade a little over time but never truly disappear, but the wound itself …

 

Ripping a small piece from the hem of his shirt he used a little water and carefully cleaned the bite wound. Astonished he raised his arm for better light. It was healed.

 

“Huh.” Bilbo muttered to himself and scratched his head in bemused wonder “I guess elves know their stuff when it comes to healing.”

 

。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。

 

Plan made Bilbo ambled over to the human camp. He didn't want to overstay his welcome with the elvish camp, so he decided to try his luck with the other race for this day.

 

It was loud. Humans were bustling back and forth and Bilbo felt uncomfortably aware how he drew attention. Not only that but the humans didn't even seem to bother hiding their opinions from him all that much. Either that or they didn't realize that Bilbo's hearing was slightly better than that of a human, even if it was not on par with the elves.

 

It rankled to hear their doubts that they would get the promised gold – which wasn't even truly his fault but the dwarrows, if they refused to give over his portion of the reward. There were loud whispers that he was a thief and betrayer, couldn't be trusted. Truthful, Bilbo thought that is it was even a nuance louder, the humans could as well say it to his face. He ducked his head and prevailed until he reached the part of the camp where the supplies had been gathered, what little the humans of the destroyed laketown had been able to gather and bring to the ruin of Dale. Bilbo felt selfish for even asking what little he needed, but if the humans had one thing in large quantities right now, it was wood.

 

He was stopped by a scowling human, who had obviously been left as a guard.

 

“What's ya business here, Halfling?” the human asked, hand resting on a shabby sword that had seen better days.

 

“I'm sorry to trouble you. I wanted to ask if you could spare some dry wood for me?” Bilbo had to crane his head to look up to the man, an experience he had already abhorred in Bree, whenever he had visited.

 

The human, if possible, looked even more hostile than before. Bilbo noted that he had dark circles under his eyes and an almost feverish glaze in his eyes that scared Bilbo, not only for himself but for the man too.

Feeling threatened he took a small step back.

 

“I meant no harm.” Bilbo quietly replied, raising his hands in a what he hoped soothing gesture of peace.

 

“No harm.” The man grunted and repeated in a raised voice “No harm! Tell that to ma family!”

Bilbo retreated further away as the man took an advancing step forward, grip on his sword tightening.

“Yer brought the dragon upon us, and what, promised gold in return? Where's it then, huh?”

Bilbo stumbled another step back, now getting scared. He could feel his heart-rate pick up, blood rushing in his ears.

 

“Malcom!”  
  
Another human appeared and gripped the man by the arm.

  
“Com'on man. Yer due for a break, I'll take over fer ya.” For a moment it seemed like Malcom didn't want to listen, his gaze searing into Bilbo who felt like a cornered animal, teetering on the edge of fight or flight, his hands balled into fists. Finally he turned away and ripped his arm out of the newcomer's grip.

 

“Fine.” he grunted and with a last, burning gaze he turned around and limped away.

 

Cautiously Bilbo eyed the new guard. He was younger but his face was tired and haggard looking.

 

“I'm sorry fer him.” the young man said with a small sigh “He lost his Maddy and it hit him hard. She was all he had left. I'm Linhart, by the way.”

Linhart reached out and Bilbo hesitatingly looked at his hand, wondering if this human was using his friendly approach to lull Bilbo into a false sense of security. He felt shaken from this encounter. His hands hurt from balling them into fists. Finally he reached out and blinked as he saw the blood on his fingernails. Turning his hands he could see several crescent shaped cuts in his palm where he had dug his fingernails into the flesh of his own palms without realizing. Wiping the blood away quickly he cautiously shook the offered hand.

 

“Bilbo." he said "Bilbo Baggins.” and then, because he had nothing much to loose anyways he continued “I was wondering if you had some spare wood, dry, for a fire? Anything I found was... well. Wet.”

 

Linhart nodded and gestured Bilbo to follow.

 

“We can't spare much.” the young man admitted with an apologetic gaze “We are running low on pretty much anything, and we need most of the wood to reinforce the buildings in Dale, or barricade the windows for winter.” Bilbo could feel his shoulders slump. He hadn't even thought about that.

 

“Don't look so down. I know yer didn't intend to wake the dragon.” Linhart continued “And yer at least tried ter help in whatever way yer could. It's only fair we help you out a little too, even if it's not much.”

 

And that was how Bilbo gained an armful of dry wood, which he profoundly thanked Linhart for before he made the track back to his one-hobbit-camp. Once there he dropped the wood with a relieved sigh and settled down for a quick break. Using another stripe of his shirt and some of his water he carefully dappled it over his palms where the cuts...

 

… had been.

 

“What...” Bilbo ran a finger over the unblemished skin of his palm. Then, almost frantically he cleaned his other hand.

 

It was healed. The cuts, while not deep, were gone. Not even a mark left behind.

 

“What... what's going on?” staring at his hands he felt a little as if he was going mad. A wound healing due to elvish interference he could accept. Wounds disappearing without a trace without a reason not so much.

 

With shaking hands he grabbed Sting and unsheathed it slowly, swallowing thickly. Then, taking a deep breath, he very carefully nicked his finger on the sharp blade, then watched his finger intently.

 

Swallowing he watched as the skin slowly knit itself back together. Slowly, but way, way, way too fast for normal hobbit healing for sure.

 

The shaking seemed to invade his whole body as he came to the terrible conclusion that something must be horribly wrong with him, and he had no idea what. His breathing quickened to shallow gasps as he saw the nails on his hands slowly darken and lengthen into terrifying looking claws.

 

“Yavanna's Grace... what's happening to me?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I had not planned to update this story so soon. But I dreamt about it and it was stuck in my head all day during work so yes, I gave in and let my muse take over to do as she pleases.
> 
> If you have any thoughts to share, I appreciate it. I'm curious if you would prefer to have a paring (and if yes, which one) or if you would prefer to leave it as friendships only. I'm still not entirely sure where I will go in that regard :)
> 
> I hope you liked my introduction of how Bilbo slowly comes to the conclusion that something about him is different ;)
> 
> Translation:
> 
> Khuzdul:
> 
> Fusak = Shit (Freely invented that word and thought Bilbo might have picked it up without meaning to...)


	3. Turned

Shocked Bilbo watched as fur sprouted from his arms and legs, honey-to-rust-coloured coarse hair that had no business on any of his limps, as far as Bilbo was concerned. He could feel bones grinding together, shifting beneath his skin, leaving him sick from the sensation and the sight.

He had paws. Paws! Honest to Yavanna paws, with scary looking claws that dug deep into the ground, not caring if it was stone or soft earth. He fell over, kneeling on the ground and panting, panicked small gasps as the world tilted and turned. Rust coloured coarse hair had spouted all over his body the more Bilbo had fell into a panic and then there was the strange almost-painful-but-not-really sensation of his bones shifting and-

 

Bilbo let out a high whine, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed in a dead faint.

 

。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。

 

Bilbo couldn't have slept long. He felt sore and as he lazily blinked his eyes open he wondered what had happened. Gingerly he picked himself up from the ground and wondered at the strange dream.

 

Right until he tried to stand up and lost his balance, tangling his four legs and landing face first on the ground again.

 

With a growl he sat up once more and looked down. His clothes lay in tatters around him, but that wasn't something Bilbo was able to concentrate on right now.

 

Paws, Bilbo noted with a slightly hysterical edge to his thoughts. There were still paws. In a Panic he tried to pad himself down, only managing to claw at himself, leaving stinging scratches on his front legs. Whining pitifully he turned in a circle, managing to catch sight of a tail that was almost distracting enough, making him snap his fangs playfully before his thoughts returned to the matter at hand- paw. Whatever.

 

Okay. So, he was... what was he? Why was he whatever he was?

 

Taking a few deep breaths Bilbo tried to calm his racing heart down. He had to be able to think!

 

It took him several tries, low whimpers escaping him without him consciously thinking about it.

 

Gandalf. He needed that damn wizard. There had to be some strange sort of magic that had turned him into... an... animal?  
  
Bilbo let out a groan that sounded more than a deep rumble as another possibility entered his mind. Shire Stories. The valar-damn tales that he had repeated countless times to tiny fauntlings. Getting bitten by an animal, in his case a morgoth-spawn of a **warg**.

 

Bilbo whimpered again as he flopped down on the ground and put his paws over his muzzle in misery. Of all the luck to have. Couldn't it have been a... a cat? Or a, you know, mouse? Something small and normal and _**not hated by the entirety of middle earth??**_

 

If Bilbo could, he would have cried. Could wargs cry?

 

Okay. A warg. Right now those fairy-tales that apparently held more truth than anyone in the Shire believed anymore were his only lead to what might be happening to him. Or maybe all those wargs he had seen had been some sentient being that had been bitten, who knew? Bilbo certainly didn't know a lot of wargs, but it was more of an explanation than, say, a bad wizard casting a spell on him.

 

Though he wouldn't put it past Gandalf to play a prank, but Gandalf wouldn't be cruel enough to leave him to his own devices during something like that.

 

So. Either he was infected, or he was a Shapeshifter. Agitated Bilbo jumped to his feet once more and begun to pace, growling at his unfortunate situation. He felt dizzy just thinking about it and his heart was pumping desperately in fright. He had to return to his hobbit form, if he even could? Did the stories tell him something about that? Hobbits getting bitten and loosing ther hobbit way, but did they _return_?

 

What if he was stuck as a warg?

 

Bilbo froze at the line of thought, an icy cold settling in his belly and breathing hitching in renewed panic.

 

Footsteps made his head snap up and his body going still, a growl escaped his throat as he instinctively scented the air. Enemies? Coming to _his_ den? Bilbo slowly bared his teeth, the growl rumbling through his whole body at the thought of intruders.

Maul them.

Rip. Defend. Tear-

Then the hobbit-nature took back the reigns and he scrambled back, whining against the violent surges and trying to listen if the footsteps were still coming closer. They were. Oh bother, they were coming, more than a few. Bilbo was a _warg_ and there were people coming.

 

“-hear that? Sou- like a-”

 

In blind panic he turned around and pawed at his sleeping place in a desperate attempt to pack his stuff, realizing the futility of his efforts when all he managed was rip the linen apart. That brought him out of his panic a little, enough to hear part of the words and actually comprehend them.

 

“Damn scavengers. Think the thief is still there?”

 

Bilbo suppressed a whine and tried to carefully close his teeth around his half packed backpack. He picked it up, internally crying at the holes he was tearing into the soft fabric – well worn leather – then he turned around and ran.

 

He could hear alarmed shouts behind him. The familiar clanking noise of dwarven armour as they started to run, all the while drawing their weapons.

 

Bilbo ran. Fast as the wind, just like in his dream. He ran and let instinct take over and left the camps of dwarrows, humans and elves behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck me sideways. This story is a menace. 3 Days old and 3 chapters, even if this one is tiny :/


	4. Newsflash

Kíli woke up in a tent. It was a nice tent, but not one he could remember going to sleep in. Slowly he turned his head, trying to take in his environment and blinking at the lamps that illuminated the place. Next to him, on another cot, was Fíli, fast asleep and wrapped in bandages, but from the movement of his chest he was alive. Something tight loosened in his chest, a gust of a sigh escaping him. Then his attention was drawn to another cot, a little further away. Thorin, clad only in his under-shirt, was lying on that bed, sweat soaking the fabric, beading on his pale yet flushed face and leaving his hair in almost greasy tangles. It was a sight Kíli could have done without. His uncle was strong and seeing him laid low like this was... terrifying. A rustling sound drew his attention to the flap that served as a doorway, through which Óin had just entered.

 

“Ah. Yer awake at last.” the old dwarf hurried over, taking a mug and a cruet from a tablet. The cruet had steam rising from it's depths. Kíli was sure it was a tea of sorts and if he remembered right – from previous instances of falling ill and being in Óin's care – it would taste disgusting.

 

Seeing the face he made only made the sadistic healer chuckle.

 

“None of that, lad. Drink that, and don't 'cha dare spit it out.”

 

“th' appned once.” Kíli croaked as he let himself be helped into a sitting position. He felt a little weak, but not as bad as it could have been. His arm though... well, it was in a sling and he dreaded finding out how bad that truly was.

 

Obediently he drank the foul stuff, and gulped down the water that Óin offered him afterwards.

Despite just having woken up he felt exhausted. His gaze trailed over his relatives.

 

“What's wrong with them?” the drinks had helped with soothing his parched throat, making speaking so much easier, much to Kíli's relief.

 

“Fíli has some broken bones. I am keeping him sedated, so he doesn't feel the pain and won't move around that much.” at Kíli's alarmed look Óin rolled his eyes “He's fine. Or will be. It's just easier if I don't have ta listen to his whines.”

 

Kíli knew that this was not the only reason, for Óin would never sedate someone for a shallow motive like that, but he appreciated the try at soothing his worries.

 

“Thorin's got it worse. His wounds have caught an infection and he's running a fever. We got it under control, it's already sinking.” Kíli nodded numbly, feeling a little overwhelmed with the information but he go the basics. Not well, but will get better. Got it.

 

“What about the rest?” the question had been niggling in the back of his mind and had come to the forefront now that he was assured of his families survival.

 

“All alive and well, mostly. Minor scratches and bruises. Bifur lost his axe.” Óin cackled at that, almost gleeful. Kíli wondered what happened but was sure the story would be told and retold several times. For now he was more curious about the rest of his companions.

 

“The Ri's have banded together with Balin. At least Dori and Ori, who knows what Nori is really doing. The worst injury was a stab wound, that's been stitched up. Didn't hit anything important, Mahal bless. Dori doesn't even seem to feel it all that much, he's been lifting and carrying stuff whenever needed.” the healer showed a displeased frown, but Dori was one of the strongest and most stubborn dwarrows and was more than a match to Óins pestering nature.

 

“Balin is currently keeping an eye on the negotiations too. Can't be too careful.” Kíli nodded. Balin would want to fill Thorin in, when the king woke up, and for that he had to have all the information.

“His brother is standing outside, looking menacing. He lost an ear, got too close to one of those goblins.” Kíli chuckled. If anything it would make Dwalin look even more fearsome.

  
“I'm pretty sure Nori has been wrangled into helping Balin keep an eye on the others, like Dain and Thranduil.” again a sensible choice. Nori knew how to blend in, if he wanted to.

 

“Glóin is also involved with the negotiations, keeping an eye on the finances and is also looking into possible trade options to get us through the winter.” Right. Winter. They would need food, firewood and shelter. Erebor could harbour them, but food was probably already running low and they would have to see if any close settlements would spare some of their stock to fill their pantries.

 

“What about the Ur's?”

 

“Bombur is happy supervising the distribution of the food and cooking to his hearts content.” Óin rolled his eyes, and really, that was not much of a surprise “Bofur has been helping him, and I think he spend quite some time with the humans, entertaining the children. Bifur sometimes accompanies him. He seems to enjoy it almost as much as the small ones and is relearning how to speak in common.” that was incredible to hear. Bifur had lost his ability to speak common, even if he was still able to understand it, during the battle of Azanulbizar. It had created an obstacle for the dwarf, whenever he encountered outsiders. Bilbo had warmed up to him rather quickly though, Kíli remembered fondly. They both held a passion for flowers that other dwarrows, himself included, simply couldn't understand. It almost seemed like they held entire conversations, simply by picking up random greens and sometimes started to laugh without any reasonable excuse. Aside from strange looks they had left the pair to their own devices.

 

Speaking of...

 

“What happened to Bilbo?”

 

At this Óin looked away, his shoulders slumping a little.

 

“Lad...” Kíli's eyes widened in face of the sombre tone Óin had used and the way he avoided eye contact.

 

“What? What is it? Is he injured? Where is he?” Kíli could barely remember the time inside Erebor, but he knew that the hobbit had encouraged them several times to eat, drink, take a break, nap or simply keep warm. They had all been affected by the gold and Kíli shuddered as he remembered the haze he had been walking though the entire time. It had lifted on the ramparts where Bilbo had very nearly been thrown over to his death. Stomach churning he anxiously wiped his uninjured hand over his mouth.

 

“He's fine lad... but he's still banished. Dain's guards are keeping him out of the camp. Bofur said he saw him in the human camp carrying firewood.”

 

“So... he's with the humans? With Bard?” At least he wasn't alone. That was good.

 

“No.” or not.

 

Óin frowned towards the small fire that warmed the tent.

“Apparently Bilbo made his own camp, near the entrance of Erebor.” Kíli felt his heart twist at the information.

 

“Alone?” he whispered and looked up to Óin, hoping for contradiction. It was not safe to be alone, even if the battle was over and he was near their camp. Maybe Gandalf...?

 

“Yes. Alone.” clearly Óin was about as happy about that as Kíli felt about it.

 

“Two guards looked into his camp last night. He seems to be uninjured, as far as they could tell, and he was ready for battle.” Kíli's lips twitched in spite of himself. Bilbo? Ready for battle?

 

“We should go and get him.” he said, already trying to swing his legs out of bed to get going, no matter how weak he felt.

 

“Can't, laddy. So long as Thorin doesn't officially rescind the banishment, him entering our camp would mean his death.”

 

Kíli felt himself deflate at that, frowning over to his unconscious uncle.

 

“Well.. hurry up and make Uncle feel better then.” he muttered petulantly. It was bad enough that they had stood by and let Bilbo be treated like that, gold sickness or not. But Kíli could remember hearing Bilbo's voice on top of Raven Hill, warning them of the trap that he and his brother had nearly walked into. As it was it had come close to being their demise, and they had been to busy fighting for their life to apologize, atone and ask for forgiveness from the hobbit that had only wanted to prevent war.

 

It was well past the time they picked up on their slack and brought Bilbo back. Kíli would never forgive himself if he couldn't make amends somehow, be it only to equip Bilbo as well as he could if the hobbit wished to return to his homeland.

 

Grumbling he laid down, shooting another look towards his Uncle. Thorin had better get well fast. Patience had never been Kíli's strong point.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some time left yesterday so here we go. Day 4, Chapter 4. I wonder how long I can keep up :P
> 
> Anyways, time to move some other players :)


	5. Hatching of a plan

It was late in the afternoon the next time Kíli woke up. Grumpily he sat up in his bed and waved away a dwarf – an assistant healer that had probably watched over them during the time Óin was away to take care of himself, in case Thorin took a turn for the worse – that had been about to come to his aid.

As far as he could tell it was only his arm that had taken some damage, which was why – without the disapproving presence of Óin – he was perfectly fine swinging his feet out of the bed and slowly standing up.

 

For a moment he swayed on his feet, the assistant healer hovering at his side making worried gestures as if he wanted to interfere. Once he managed to get his balance, Kíli quickly took stock of himself. He had been stripped of his armour and was – just as Fíli and Thorin – only clad in his underthings. A quick look around showed that some of his clothes had been stacked on a chest in the corner of the room.

 

Dressing with one arm was a challenge, but Kíli scowled at the dwarf when he tried to mention helping. He wouldn't submit himself to that indignity, even if that meant his trousers were only loosely held together by a badly tied string of leather and his shirt hang a little askew on his frame. Especially since he didn't move his right, injured arm through the sleeve. He wasn't stupid, and taking chances to make an injury to his main hand worse? Nah. He loved archery too much for that.

If someone didn't look at him too closely, they wouldn't even realize it. Probably.

 

A commotion outside the tent attracted his attention. Curious as ever Kíli didn't hesitate and lifted the flap of the tent out of the was with his left hand, stepping out into the fresh air and right next to Dwalin who was frowning at two armed guards that had very nearly collapsed in front of him, babbling something about wargs and camps and other things.

 

“What's going on here?” Kíli tried to channel as much _I-disapprove-of-your-behaviour-and-you-better-have-a-damn-good-reason_ voice that Thorin used whenever he and his brother had gotten into another particularly stupid adventure that led to completely unforeseeable and unfortunate circumstances. It worked as the two dwarrows nearly scrambled over themselves to stand straight.

 

“We spotted a warg.” one of them said, the other adding “We think there might be more in the area. We have no idea how it could have gotten this close to us without us noticing.”

 

“Close?” Dwalin growled “What is ' _close_ '?”

 

The two of them exchanged another, uneasy look, before one of them turned back to Dwalin.

“Close to the gates of Erebor.” he hesitatingly admitted. And that was... that was pretty close, Kíli admitted. And... hadn't Óin said...?

 

“Where exactly?” Kíli's voice had taken a harsh edge, that even Dwalin looked at him in surprise. When the two dwarrows exchanged another look Kíli lost the last of his patience, his left hand striking out and grabbing the more informative guard by the front of his armour, drawing him closer and pulling his attention to Kíli alone.

 

“I asked a question, guard. Where. Exactly.”

 

“T-the halflings camp!” Kíli's grip slackened and the dwarf immediately took a step away from him.

 

“It was in the small camp the halfling made and ran off before we could kill it.”

 

“No.” Kíli felt fear pierce his heart but tried to power through. There was no proof of anything.

 

“What about the hobbit?” even before he finished his question one of the guards shook his head and pulled a tattered, bloody piece of clothing out of his pocket.

 

Kíli took the small stripe of clothing into his hand and looked at it for a moment, feeling numb.

 

It was the waistcoat that he had jokingly put nettles in, sometime before he had really gotten to know the hobbit and appreciate his friendship. A fabric that had survived trolls (and their snot), goblins, orcs, wargs, Mirkwood, a barrle ride and a dragon.

 

His hand balled around the tattered piece and he looked up to Dwalin, both of them probably thinking the same thing. Bilbo against a warg on his own? Not good.

 

Dwalin nodded at the guards and send them away, ordering more guards to comb the area and look for any other signs that there might be an ambush waiting for them, while Kíli still reeled at the situation.

 

After they disappeared to spread the word, Dwalin turned back to Kíli.

 

“Yer alright, laddy?” Kíli shook his head, swallowing several times before he could trust himself to speak.

 

“No.” taking another breath he tried to hide how shaken he was. They had all survived the battle. It should have been safe. Bilbo would have been safe, if he had been with them. In their camp. Maybe even in this very tent, fussing over them like the mother-hen he refused to admit he was.

 

“I need... I need to see. Maybe... maybe he's still alive?”

 

“Laddy...” Dwalin grumbled “Even one warg? 'gainst Bilbo? Tha' like putting a cat against a caterpillar.”

 

“But Bilbo is clever. He might not even have been in his camp. No body, right?”

 

Dwalin let his gaze trail down to the strip of bloodied clothing and then back up to Kíli with a rather disbelieving look on his face. Kíli was not about to let his hopes be crushed that easily and shook the offending article in Dwalin's face.

  
“That blood? Not fresh." Dwalin was going nearly cross-eyed to actually be able to see what Kíli was talking about. It was a funny picture, and if the situation hadn't been so dire Kíli would have laughed in Dwalin's face, even if that meant Dwalin would probably cuff him over the head "Besides these rips? They don't seem to come from fangs or claws...” Kíli looked at the waistcoat, noting the ripped seams with confusion. Whatever the hell had happened, a warg wouldn't bother to carefully destroy the seam with precision. It looked ripped and yes, there were cuts but those seemed to have been made by a sword, clean cuts and not the ragged lines of a warg tearing through it. Looking up he raised a challenging eyebrow right back “Maybe Bilbo used it to cover his scent or something.” finally he could see Dwalin begin to have his own doubts and tried to suppress a small grin.

 

“How about I take a look and investigate?”

 

Dwalin barked a harsh laugh and then crossed his arms.

  
“How about no. What'cha think Thorin will do ta me if he finds I let ya run off willy-nilly into the wild, injured like that?” Kíli huffed and glowered at his hidden arm.

 

“Compromise, laddy. How 'bout we get some of our people together and then yer can investigate?”

 

Kíli grinned. That was why he liked Dwalin, because he wasn't scared of Thorin after all.

 

And screw patience.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5, Chapter 5. Enjoy!  
> I've reached the end of my preplanned chapters, so from now it's going to be a surprise for all of us, myself included. Muse is still working overtime, but can't seem to settle on one path, jumping back and forth between decisions and despairing at her options. Whoops.  
> Well, anyways. I don't think I will update daily from now on, but this story is honestly so much fun I think it will continue to grow at a much more rapid pace than I anticipated or wanted.  
> Your thoughts are always welcome and as always I will try to answer each and every comment :)


	6. The Plan

In no time at all they had gathered the rest of the company, except the still unconscious king and heir. Most of them had already heard the devastating news, and agreed to a quick search through all the camps, just in case Bilbo had been lucky and safe with either the humans or elves.

Two hours later they gathered once more and had the confirmation that nobody had seen their hobbit, since Bofur had glanced at him back in the human camp.

Kíli silently watched as the company descended into chaos, arguing between themselves for the right course of action. Chewing on his lips he cursed the fact that his uncle and brother were both still out for the count. They could have wrangled the rest of them into at least a coordinated mess, instead of this bickering nonsense that was currently playing out in front of him.

 

But Kíli? Kíli had always been more of a joker, the youngest, to be protected. He wasn't used to actually taking the reigns without a silent support from someone, who watched over his actions ready to intervene. Nor was he used to being taken seriously all that often.

 

Rolling his shoulders, ignoring the twinge of hurt in his arm, Kíli climbed to his feet slowly, letting his eyes trail over the rest of the company. What use was arguing to Bilbo? None. And the longer they took, the less likely it was they would find their hobbit alive.

What did they think they were doing?

 

“Itkit!” he growled and when none seemed to hear him he raised his fist.

 

“ _ **ITKIT!**_ ” with it he slammed his fist into a barrel that was standing in the small space between tents, where they had gathered so as to avoid being heard or disturbing the sick. The sudden silence was satisfying, but now he needed to back up his actions with a plan or they would just start up again. He felt sick with the responsibility, sick with fear of making the wrong choices. This wasn't him. He was supposed to make ridiculous choices and cause mayhem for his own amusement, not be the voice of reason. But right now it was not like he had much of a choice.

 

“Stop quarrelling. It is not the time, right now we have to _act_!” he scowled to hide his uneasiness and ploughed on “I want you split into two teams. Dwalin, Óin, Balin, Ori, Bombur you can't leave here. You are needed, or it will draw too much attention if you suddenly disappear.” Balin nodded, a gleam in his eyes that made Kíli both happy and uneasy, for it looked too much like pride for his taste. Another thing he was not really used to. Disapproval or fond exasperation usually coloured his elders eyes, sometimes even hidden amusement.

 

“Nori, Dori, Bofur, Bifur, you could come with me. Glóin...” he looked at the red-haired dwarf “Do you think you can leave your duties to someone you would trust?” Glóin would be good to have with them. He had at least a mediocre understanding of how to patch up bigger wounds than the rest of them and with Óin unable to stray from the kings side, it would be invaluable to have, should Bilbo be in need of medical attention. To his surprise Ori stepped forward.

  
“I think I can take over the most important bits. I'm good with sorting and have a quick hand. Right now you are taking stock of what is in Erebor, and what is brought out, right?” They were using a small bit of Erebors gold to reach out for trade to the neighbouring settlements. For food and other items they would need to survive the winter. At Glóin's nod Kíli let out a sigh of relief.

 

“Okay. Dwalin's group, you go about your business.” he gestured at the dwarves that had already started to divide into the two teams.

 

“The rest of you will come with me.” At their protest he growled and waited until they were quiet again.

 

“I might not be able to shoot a bow right now, but I sure as hell can still fight.” Kíli said “And that's beside the point. I have you to fight for me, should come to that.” he rolled his eyes at another wave of protests “I'll go with you as a tracker.”

Due to Kíli's reckless nature and him being prone to cause mischief, it was often overlooked that he was quite proficient in his area of expertise. Hunting, after all, wasn't only about shooting an arrow, but also about tracking the animals and anticipating their reactions. And that was something Kíli had dedicated himself to.

 

Without giving them a chance to reply this time he quickly added “Gather your stuff. Óin? Can you prepare a small med kit for Glóin?” and watched as the healer nodded and bustled away.

 

“Good.” Kíli sighed and resisted the urge to slump to the ground in exhaustion. Responsibility was tiring. He really hoped that his tent-mates would wake soon and he would _**never**_ have to do this again. Then again, now that Erebor was theirs once more, he wondered how long he could escape that cursed fate. For now thought there were more important things to do.

 

“I'll leave in half an hour. With or without you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Kíli and I think he is a lot more inteligent than his goofy and playful attitude let's him appear most of the time. I think he just really abhors responsibility and since Fíli is a big brother and overprotective, Dís is a menace to the world at large and Thorin is a grumpy, sourdwarf that scares everyone away and dislikes unloading his duty on others, he might not have had to do much of that at all.
> 
> Who else adores Kíli? :)  
> Anyways, he doesn't all that often play a bigger role in fanfictions, so I thought he might like to have some action to himself for once :P


	7. Animal Instinct

Bilbo had run for what felt like ages. His chest was heaving and his limbs were trembling, that was how much he had pushed himself. His pace turned to a normal run, then to a fast trot, then he slowly stumbled to a halt. Very carefully he let his jaw drop the bag to the ground and then allowed himself to settle down beside it, his sides still moving rapidly up and down. He had run far. There was no sign of a battlefield any more. In the far distance he could still see Mirkwood, the trees a sea of green on the horizon. He could also see what he would guess could be the peak of the Lonely Mountain – now Erebor once more. Turning over he let his eyes roam over the area, his legs a tangle on the ground. In the other direction, where he had been headed, he could see some more mountain rages, looking like claws reaching for the sky from the distance. Reluctantly and more because he was curious, he tried to scent the air, but the scents he picked up didn't make much sense to him. Oh, he could recognize the frozen quality for the time of the year – _Fatten up. Search for prey. Hunt. Rip. Eat.–_ and the smell of earth before it was frozen solid. But the other scents made little to no sense to him.

 

A low whine crept out of his dry throat as he languidly gathered his legs beneath him again to stand up. Once standing he moved in a slow circle, trying to guess just where he had inadvertently run off to. If he had to guess, he would say he had mostly moved further east and maybe a little to the south? Bilbo whacked his brain for a map of middle earth. He knew where the settlements, the big ones were supposed to be, but he had long learned that distance on a map looked a lot less intimidating then when you tried to reach a goal before nightfall by foot – paws.

 

… Whatever.

 

Bilbo sat down on his hind legs, trying not to think too much about how he had no arms with opposable thumbs any more. Miserably he looked down, experimentally digging his claws into the ground. They sunk into the earth like a hot knife cut through butter. Bilbo shuddered.

 

At least he was slowly calming down, his heart-rate was returning to normal now that he found he was in relative safety.

 

_Too open. Vulnerable. Not safe. Need den._

 

Without even realizing it Bilbo had started to move, picking up his bag before freezing in his tracks, unsettled by the urge to seek shelter. This time the let the bag go without concerning himself what he could damage or loose. He was not. An. Animal.

 

He would not act like it. He would not! He couldn't loose himself to those- those...! Instincts!

 

Another shudder went through his body, his hackles raising at the image of himself. He was a warg! He was an animal, to anyone who saw him. They would... they would hunt him and kill him and say good riddance.

He hated it. He hated what he had become and-

-and Bilbo howled, dropping to the floor and curling up as his skin prickled and bones began to shift anew. It hurt more this time, for whatever reason, than shifting from his hobbit body into the warg body. It was over within minutes, but it left the hobbit gasping and shivering on the ground in all his naked glory. Only now did he realize just how cold – freezing really – it had become. Cold enough that even his sturdy hobbit feet curled their toes trying to preserve what little warmth he had. It took him longer than it should to sort out his limps again, his run had already acclimated him to having four legs and it was confusing to have to reorient himself.

 

Whimpering he crawled over to his bag and rummaged through it for his spare set of clothes and quickly pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt. It was not much, not much at all, but his coat had been left behind in the camp. Just like his sleeping gear and his rain-cover. And Sting. Quaking Bilbo looked through the meagre contents of his bag. A little bit of food, some flint, a pen and some paper he had been able to forage, a dagger and a handkerchief. And wasn't that irony a punch to the gut, since now he knew there were much more important things to have with you when you were stuck alone in the cold wilderness.

 

Bilbo closed his eyes as helplessness welled up in him, trying to fight tears of frustration. He ground his teeth together and picked himself up. He needed to find shelter, or he would soon freeze to death. If night broke out before he could find something... well, Bilbo was well aware that he would be lucky to see the next sunrise then.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought it was time for some Bilbo POV again ;D well... now he is out and about again, mostly without preparation. Sounds familiar, huh? Only difference: He's alone now.
> 
> Wonder how long though :)


	8. Rescue party

Maybe half an hour was a bit of a tight time-limit, Kíli thought as he fidgeted in the meeting place and all the others had yet to arrive. Maybe he should have given them a hour at least. It wouldn't do to rush. Or maybe they had decided to not listen to him after all? He wasn't Thorin Oakenshield. He was not their king, nor heir apparent. The owed him nothing. But surely they wouldn't leave Bilbo to his fate?

 

His fingers tabbed out an odd rhythm on the box of supplies he was currently using as his seat. He barely resisted the urge to wring his hands in an oddly hobbitish way. Bilbo was such a fussy creature, but his habits seemed to be rubbing off. The dwarfs hand's stilled at that thought, shying away from the image of what could have become of their burglar.

He wouldn't believe it until he saw it with his own eyes. Whatever 'it' implied.

 

Kíli wiped a sweaty palm against his trouser and huffed, his eyes trailing over his pack and weapons to check over his gear again. Just making sure everything was in order and he hadn't missed anything.

The sound of the tent-flap moving made him straighten and breath out in relief as one after another his team – half of the company really – trailed in with their own gear. They seemed battle-ready, despite the numerous wounds from their most recent fight. They were not in too bad a shape but Kíli would have liked them to have some rest before heading out into the unknown again. Regaining Erebor should have been the end. They should now be concentrating on building a home, not... not whatever was happening, with elves and humans sitting on their doorstep, Dain's army causing trouble and Bilbo missing.

 

Clearing his throat he gained the attention of his group and felt oddly nervous. He had fought with them, bleed with them, laughed with them. They had shared food and warmth and stories. Yet, leading them? Horrifying.

 

“Let's go.” Kíli really hoped nobody heard his voice crack a little, as he quickly cleared his throat again. He busied himself by picking up his stuff, made more difficult due to still only having one functioning arm.

 

Despite that he slung his bow and quiver onto his back, before shouldering his bag. He had to be a little creative to fix the bag so that wouldn't interfere with his injury, but a strap across his chest – below his armpits – held the backpack in place quite nicely. It would do, even if it wasn't exactly ideal.

 

Turning back he noticed that a few of his comrades looked a little amused – well, amused was Nori's default expression more often than not – and felt a little embarrassment colour his cheeks.

Stubbornly he jutted out his chin and continued on as if nothing had happened.

 

“Let's see what we can find in Bilbo's camp.”

 

。・゜゜・ ✿ ・゜゜・。

 

The trek to the small make-shift camp didn't take long. It was pretty close, probably as close as Bilbo had dared to come without risking the guards feeling threatened by his proximity.

 

More threatened, Kíli amended as he eyed the guards at Erebor's entrance.

 

His team was standing just at the edge of the small space that Bilbo had claimed for himself. Kíli looked around the place with heavy heart, noting every single detail without actually touching anything, or disturbing the scene too much.

 

“Definitely a warg.” Bifur sighed, while Bofur pulled at his hat-flaps in distress.

 

Kíli swallowed, eyes trailing over the picture that presented itself to them. Deep gouges in the ground and even some in the stones that sheltered the place. Ripped pieces of clothing and a completely destroyed, almost shredded sleeping-bag, torn to pieces by powerful and sharp claws. Warg fur on the ground and even a little bit of blood. Sting way lying carelessly on the ground, half out of it's sheath with tiny speckles of blood on it's blade. A tiny lamp lay on it's side on the ground, the candle had rolled out and into a puddle of soft mud.

 

Kíli raised a hand to hold the others back, while he hesitatingly stepped into the destroyed camp, letting his eyes roam over the scene again and again. He knelt down to inspect the par prints, picked up the warg hair – slightly reddish, almost a coppery colour which was unusual for wargs that had usually more of a muddy brown coat – trailed his fingers over the gouges in stone and inspected the things that were strewn about the place. All the while his companions impatiently waited for him to finish.

 

Finally he turned around, having made himself as much of a picture as he could.

 

“I don't think Bilbo was here. At least, not where the warg could have seen him.” a collective sigh of relief went through the rest and Kíli had to fight a smile at their reaction. He felt much the same.

 

“Well?” Nori said as he stepped up to Kíli, picking up Sting on the way and rubbing as the dried blood until it flaked away. “What made ya think that? Are ye sure?”

 

Kíli nodded. After seeing it for himself? He was entirely sure that Bilbo had not died. At least not here.

 

“Several things. First, and most important, there is simply not enough blood. If a warg had r-ripped Bilbo apart here, there would be loads. And a body too, if I had to guess.” swallowing he pointed at the scratches in the stone “There is no blood in those either. If the warg had taken a swipe at Bilbo, I'm sure there would be some left-over blood in these too. Or blood splatters.”

 

Looking around the camp Kíli shrugged his shoulders “And I don't see most of his gear. I mean, he must have had a bag, even if his old one is sitting back in... back in Erebor.” Bilbo had not had the time to get his stuff when Thorin had thrown him out as a traitor “But he collected fire-wood. There is no flint here though and I'm sure he wouldn't have bothered to get wood if he had no way to make a fire.”

 

Finally he nodded at the paw prints that were trailing all over the small camp.

 

“And these? From a warg. Fur is copper-coloured. I think it was only one warg, and it paced the camp up and down.” Kíli followed the prints until he reached the ones that were leading away.

 

“And it ran off in that direction. And – since Bilbo is not here... I think it's probably trailing after him.” Why else had Bilbo not returned, if not for the fact that he was hiding from the warg, or still running. How Bilbo had managed to evade it at all was a mystery to him. Outrunning a warg on foot? Impossible. Not for long and not without a huge amount of luck. Or a wizard distracting them most of the time.

 

And there was another mystery that Kíli had as of yet no answers to.

 

For all that there were warg prints all over the place... there was only one trail leading away. But no second trail arriving.

 

And that's why, while the other dwarrows now carefully stepped into the camp to look around themselves, Kíli's gaze was attracted to a small, glinting object that lay nestled in parts of Bilbo's destroyed clothes. Curious he bend down and picked it up. It was a ring. A bland ring of gold, heavy in his hand. And yet Kíli felt it important. Precious. A family heirloom maybe? Or something out of Erebor's treasury?

 

“Trail leads south-east!” Nori called as he hopped down a boulder “If we wanna follow it, we should set out now, while there's still light.”

 

Kíli blinked, startled out of a daze and slipped the ring into his pocket. They had a hobbit to find after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... nobody thought what ripped clothes would also mean! Bilbo always carried the ring close to his body after all :)
> 
> Oh Kíli, what are you doing...


	9. A king awakens

Thorin slowly gained conscious to immense pain. Pain that was almost all encompassing, drowning out his thoughts in fiery torture and making his body feel almost alien. His foot flared with agony even without any movement, heat lingering in his limp and spreading upwards in deadly trails of molten stone, that slowly seemed to invade his whole body. He groaned, feeling as if an inferno was laying waste to his body, one that had already passed any defences and left behind the burned desolation, still sweltering hot and deadly.

He didn't truly remember how he came to be in this state, but he did have an almost desperate ache in his chest, like he needed to do something and had a limited time for it. A shadow appearing over him made him flinch, weak fingers twitching in an attempt to search for a weapon or a shield to defend him, despite his state. He would not lie here and die without trying, not after all...!

“None of that now, lad.” the voice was familiar, gruff and soothing, letting Thorin relax a little. He struggled to stay awake, trying to remember what he needed to do, icy planes flickering through his mind and blood, screams, battle cries and weapons clashing in a familiar chaotic mix of sounds that spelled death and destruction and a body count too high to call anything that came out of it a victory. He wasn't sure if they were recent memories, even if his injured self indicated to it being a likely possibility, or battles fought long past. In this moment they blended together, leaving him whacked with grief for his kin that had died fighting valiantly against their foes, or gone missing amongst the bodies, never to be heard of again. His eyelids grew heavy and fluttered shut without his consent, as if they had been filled with ingots of iron and his strength just wasn't enough to keep them open anymore. The last he felt was something soft and cool placed on his brow and a relieving wetness tickling past his chapped lips. Then the pain dragged him back under.

He awoke several more times, each as confusing as the next, but slowly the fire in his body dimmed to a dull glow, his clouded head finally clearing little by little, as if the smoke of the fire was finally being lifted by a refreshing wind.

The next time he woke to clarity, he almost desperately wished that what had happened had been fever induced hallucinations and he had not, ever, succumbed to the gold sickness himself. Taking a shuddering breath he tried – and failed – to sit up, falling back down on the bed he was lying on with a groan of pain that drew the attention of Óin to himself.

“Ach, lad. Yer should know better by now.” Óin told him in a huff, bustling over to check that Thorin hadn't done himself more damage. As Thorin had done several times before, when he had been injured more than usual. The king pushed the pain to the back of his mind. This time it was manageable, as long as he held still. And finally he was healthy enough to speak his mind, even if his throat felt scratchy from disuse.

“Fíli?” his voice cracked but he forced himself to continue, for this was the most important to him “Kíli?”

Óin hummed in sympathy but smiled down at the king, unknowingly taking a huge weight off Thorin's chest with the gesture.

“Alive and getting in trouble. Well, Fíli is a good patient-” Thorin narrowed his eyes, his nephews, either of them really, never behaved themselves for long and Fíli being a good patient? Suspicious.  
“He's just ov'r there!” Óin nodded over “He has a bad break, so we keep him sedated most of the time. At least until it has a chance to heal a little.”

Thorin let out a sight of relief. A break could heal and with Óin being extra cautious, there would hopefully be next to no permanent damage or it would be as limited as the healer could possibly manage.

“Now Kíli is already up and about,” Óin continued while he leaned over Thorin to check on his wounds and giving his patient a stink eye as he added “being the least injured of you three.”

And Thorin's pulse instantly went up again. Kíli being up and about was well and truly good. But he would never leave his brother's side when Fíli was injured. Not without a very good reason.

“Ach. He's grown, Thorin. There has been an... incident.” from the was Óin fidgeted, Thorin was not about to calm down. Rather the opposite in fact. He managed a small, impatient grunt, indicating that Óin should get on with the story and tell him what the hell his nephew was getting into now.

“Took charge right away, never thought I would see the day.” Óin muttered, maybe forgetting that Thorin could still hear him, even if Thorin had no intention of disagreeing.  
Raising an eyebrow only got him an eye roll though, and thankfully a glass of water held to his lips. He wanted to protest, but really, he didn't have an ounce of strength in his limps so it was probably for the better. Ignoring the embarrassment he gratefully sipped the cool liquid, feeling relieved as it soothed some of his raw throat. It wasn't the first time he had been injured to the point of needing help of the basic necessities.

“Wha- what incident?” he croaked out and winced as Óin grew still and silent, mustering him with a heavy frown as if he was carefully judging Thorin. Finally the healer delicately set the glass to the side, busying himself with some medicine.

Heart trumping heavily in his chest he watched and waited, until Óin finally sighed and let his shoulders slump.

“Wargs outside the camp.” the healer looked at Thorin, seemingly measuring him “the beast was seen in B- the burglars camp-site. The hobbit has yet to be found.”

Thorin blinked, a sudden rushing sound in his ears. After a few heartbeats he managed to form a faint and weak sounding “what?” as he felt like the ground had split open below him, leaving him falling into a bottomless abyss.

Bilbo?

Gone?

“What...” his voice sounded weak even to his ears “Why...? Why wasn't he in our camp?” Why hadn't he come to them, to safety??

“...” Óin looked grave as he measures Thorin with a look “'s still banished, lad.”

Banished? Thorin blinked, trying to fit that word into the whole picture. It still felt like his thoughts were crawling at a snails pace and he had trouble putting pieces of information together, connecting them to what had happened. He felt as if a few parts of the battle had been replaced by holes. His heart twisted and he shook his pounding head a little, before stopping with a groan.

“He's... he's not, I rescinded it. I'm sure I did, I told him, back on... back on...” where had it been? “on Ravenhill...?” he had, hadn't he? Or had that, too, been a hallucination that his mind had come up with during his delirious, fevered state? To ease his guilty conscience?

Fear surged through him. Had Bilbo been there? It had seemed so real to him.

“Aye. Bilbo was with ye when the eagles picked ya up.” Óin muttered and glowered into the far corner of the tent “but there are no witnesses to yer lifting the banishment and the dwarrows were hardly taking the word of a traitor while the king couldn't refute it.”

Thorin felt indignant, for he knew that Bilbo wouldn't use a situation like that for underhanded motives. He knew that now, but he couldn't fault his kin for their suspicions either, knowing he would have done the same to a stranger.

But... now Bilbo was gone, probably dead because of that.

When Óin came over with a tea that Thorin was sure would put him under again, he shook his head. Stubbornly he insisted on pen and paper. If word was not enough, then he would write it out until he would have the strength to announce it to all present himself once more. If there was any chance that Bilbo was alive, he wanted him to be welcome once he found his way back...

Besides... he had to get better soon so he could mount his own rescue party, just in case Kíli needed back up.

Dís would kill him if something happened to her sons. She would probably already skin him for what had happened. If he was lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I would finally wake sleepy-head up. Did you like Thorin's POV? Would you like more different views?


	10. Rescue mission

Tracking the warg wasn't as easy as it seemed to be after their first impression. While they had the general direction the beast had been running away from, as well as several reports from dwarrows, elves and humans who had watched as the warg had crossed the battlefield from afar. They had lost track of it in the muddied chaos of the overthrown earth, between hundreds of other paw-prints that had torn into the ground. Kíli who served as the tracker in the group quietly cursed up a storm whenever his newest lead cut off once again.

 

It was slow going, much too slow for Kíli's liking since every minute that passed could mean Bilbo's death, but there was no other option. If they rushed their search, they ran risk of overlooking an important detail. It would only cost them more time if they ran after a false trail after all and had to double back to see where the real one actually was.

 

Once they passed the battlefield and had determined from accounts of eye-witnesses that they were indeed on the correct path, it got easier and since the beast seemed to be heading in an almost straight line, they strapped their gear on tight and allowed themselves to pick up their pace. If it jostled his still injured arm every now and then, Kíli carefully kept the pain off his face. The last thing he wanted was for someone to get overprotective over the youngest member and second prince and send him back. It had been bad enough when Thorin had left him behind in Laketown.

 

The company was unusually grim and silent. Determined expressions warred with concern and the stubborn wish for them to either make it in time to save their hobbit or deal out a vengeance that would be remembered by their foes. If any survived that is.

 

Kíli couldn't bring himself to make jokes right this time. He felt in debt to the hobbit for what he had done, when he had stood up to Thorin with a bravery the entire company had not thought him capable of when he had run after them at the beginning of their journey. Not only that, but his own inaction weighed heavily on his mind, and the young prince was sure his companions shared that guilt.

 

They pressed on. Nobody had to say it but they were all pushing themselves hard to gain as much ground as they could. Kíli despaired that they couldn't have taken some mounts, but it would have attracted unwanted attention to their rescue team and they hadn't wanted to risk getting delayed. Not for explanations, nor arguments, nor anything else. Kíli had hesitated for a moment before he had deemed the risk too great. The war-goats were well guarded, impossible to get to without drawing attention and having to disclose their plan of trying to rescue a perceived traitor to Erebor and the crown.

 

No. Worst case Dain would have them detained until Thorin woke up and could right things – if Thorin still was of sound mind and did indeed wake up with his memories intact – which would have led to a lot of time being wasted.

 

That's why they were now stuck chasing a warg on foot. And from the looks of it the beast was rather fast, faster even since it didn't seem to have a rider.

 

More worrying were the traces of other wargs and orcs, stragglers from the battle or cowards that had run off before the end. Kíli had made a few tense signs in Iglishmêk the secret hand-language of their people to the rest of the members of his party to make them aware of the possibility of either a trap or an ambush. Better for all of them to keep their eyes open. To his slight relief the plains were rather open, they would see the orcs coming from rather far away. At the same time this presented the problem that they were rather vulnerable too and could also be easily spotted from a distance, making the terrain rather risky to cross.

 

Every now and then Kíli took a closer look at either the ground or the sky. He had to keep them on the right track after all. His lips pressed firmly together as the signs of wargs increased, his brow furrowing in anger and concern. He stepped forward and crouched on the ground, tracing the one print on the ground that stood out to his eyes and made a small smile twitch in his slowly coming beard.

 

“Who do you know that would run around barefoot when it's nearly winter...?” he looked up at his companions who quickly gathered around and muttered to each other.

 

“Mahal's beard.” Bofur pulled at the flaps of his ears and Kíli wondered if he wanted to pull it over his eyes in worry or just needed something solid to hold onto “The lad is still alive?”

They had almost lost hope to find him alive but that little footprint made by the warmth of the hobbit's sole that had melted the light frost covering the ground in glittering beauty... it was proof.

 

By now it was already rather dark. They had continued to push themselves until even their eyesight had difficulties making out details but with the rising moon they had managed to walk for two more hours after the sunset.

 

Excitement bubbled up in Kíli and he took a step forward, legs trembling. They had a solid lead and it might actually bring them straight to Bilbo. A hand curled around his arm and stopped him in his tracks.

 

“What?!” he turned around to face Nori with a frown.

 

“We should stop.” The thief said, eyeing their surroundings with beady-eyed suspicion.

 

“Why?” Kíli freed his arm and pointed at the footprint “We have a clear lead! By morning new frost could have covered it, or worse snow could begin to fall and where would we be then?”

 

“Lad.” Bifur – it was still strange to hear the dwarf talk – stepped forward “We are all exhausted. We need rest and food, or we will only end up as some game for the next orc that crosses our path.”

 

Kíli had to concede they did have a point, especially since his legs felt like they wanted to fold beneath him if only he put aside his stubborn pride and allowed the fatigue to take over. Frustrated Kíli gnawed his teeth together and blinked rapidly at the evidence of Bilbo's survival. His arm throbbed painfully as he clenched his hands into fists.

 

“We are going to loose the trail.” He said, blinking up at the rest of the company who looked as unhappy as Kíli felt, if not even sympathetic and uneasy. Kíli pressed his uninjured hand to his eyes until spots of light danced in his vision, sucking in a few trembling breaths to compose himself before he straightened his back and pressed his mouth into a firm line. He couldn't, he knew he couldn't push them further. They were still weary from the battle and they had pushed themselves almost all day with little to no rest. His companions were right, if they wanted to stand a chance to save Bilbo if he was indeed in a tight spot, they would need to be in fighting condition and right now it was not looking good for them.

 

“We will rest. A few hours, enough to get a nap to sleep and some substance into our belly.” Kíli decreed reluctantly “We will have some who need to watch anyways. If it starts to snow we will set out straight away again.”

Mumbles of agreement met his words and Kíli felt his shoulders relax. Quickly they set out to find a more sheltered and defensible spot and settled down for a short break.

 

Kíli couldn't help that his gaze always trailed back to the first sign of life they had found of Bilbo. They were getting closer. He couldn't help but feel as if the break might still cost them the chance to save Bilbo though.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took so long. I had that chapter mostly ready and planned to update sooner but life is just... life. I'm honestly not sure when I will write more. I had planned to get on with writing a lot more due to my new job but... well.   
> I thought that with a new job my life would finally smooth out and I could have a break from all the bad stuff happening around me. The last two years have been taxing since my dad died in a car accident.  
> A few days ago my mother had been diagnosed as terminally ill. So... yeah. That's been... not good at all as I'm not dealing well with that.  
> I'll write when I can but honestly, it's not a priority for me. Sometimes it distracts me, but between learning for my new job, going to the hospital/helping my mother/keeping the apartment there is not as much time for it as I had planned. I mean, my updates already were irregular at best. I will not give the story up but the next chapter(s) will probably take a long time. Or maybe really fast as writing is as much a comfort to me as reading.   
> Fact is I don't know when I will update so don't worry about the story...! It will continue someday whenever I feel like it.


	11. Being a Shapeshifter

Bilbo had wandered for what had seemed like ages. His body was starting to feel numb and with clarity Bilbo realized that he would not survive the night as he was. Not out in the open, wide planes of frozen ground stretching into every direction. Not without shelter and warmth and maybe food.

Being a warg... if Bilbo could just escape the cold, might not be so bad after all. At least out here he didn't run risk of being killed since no one seemed to be around anyways.

He was so exhausted that several times his eyes shut without his conscious thought while he was stubbornly setting one foot in front of the other. The cold had begun to feel like icy needles stabbing through his feet after only a relatively short amount of time, even though hobbit feet were sturdy and usually held up to temperatures quite a bit, at least for some time. Now they felt like swollen bricks, numb and too large. Clumsy and heavy. Making him stumble every few steps.

Bilbo knew he was in a bad place when he could feel the darkness encroaching on his sight. It came on slowly as Bilbo struggled forward. Then he stumbled once more and landed hard on his knees, pain shooting through him but even that was soon numbed by the cold that seemed to have settled deep into his bones.

 

He was just so tired. It wasn't even all that cold anymore. His body had stopped shivering ages ago. If he only closed his eyes for a moment, to gather a little strength to get up again...

A small sigh escaped him as his body slowly pitched forward and darkness enveloped his conscious.

 

 

When he woke up – surprised at waking up at all – he felt a lot warmer. And he was back on four paws, which he quickly realized once he tried to sit up. This time he couldn't help but feel a little grateful for the fur coat that offered him some protection against the harsh climate. Just a tiny little bit. It was still hard to wrap his mind around what was happening but... he was a hobbit. And the warg was now a part of him now. There had to be a way to control it. Bilbo was sure he was not the only hobbit to be bitten by an animal, though he was almost certain that non of his fellow Shire inhabitants had faced quite the same predicament as he. Irritated and still a bit shaky on his paws, Bilbo shook out his fur and looked hesitatingly down at his paws. They were huge and once Bilbo experimented a little, he could see sharp claws digging into the ground when he made a motion like trying to grip something. It felt a bit weird but now that he had the time to, he was also sort cautiously of curious about his other form. He had the unfortunate meeting with more than one warg on the journey but never had he tried to study them in detail. Turning his head a little he tried to take a look over his shoulder, seeing the coarse, thick fur glittering with a bit of frost and snow. He couldn't be certain but he thought he might make a quite frightening sight. For a hobbit. But then again, anything with sharp teeth and claws was sort of frightening for a hobbit. He wasn't quite sure how big he was compared to other wargs but from the way he was further away from the ground, he guessed he was a quite bit taller than his hobbit form. For Bilbo, that was a bewildering thought in and itself. Where did the mass come from after all?

Deciding to not question magic as it would only lead to insanity (would explain Gandalf's existence), Bilbo concentrated more on the physical aspects of what he could see of himself.

There were certainly more muscles on this form than he was used to in his hobbit form. While he had lost a lot of weight during the journey (especially in Mirkwood, foul lands!), that by no means meant that he was muscular now. More lean.

His warg was showing a few of the same signs that Bilbo thought he was exhibiting in his hobbit form. A bit too thin, but still barely on the healthy side. Some shades of the fur, especially on the underbelly, reminded him of his hair colour, while the fur covering his back had taken a more reddish, almost coppery tint.

Well now. Bilbo turned in a circle to try and see more of himself, (and he was not getting distracted by his own tail, trying to catch it with his teeth before remembering himself and tumbling over his own feet in a hurry to stop) before huffing at his behaviour.

So... he was an animal now and he was almost certain that there had to be more hobbits with animal forms. But for him to never have seen that? Either there were really quite few of his fellows who could shapeshift, maybe there weren't many with the ability, or maybe due to them being careful not to have any animals that could bite them around... anyways, hobbits weren't really big on having pets since most of them were quite big...

Or they were just that good at keeping it a secret. He suspected a combination of both. And maybe the early death of his parents would explain why he had never really been clued into the secret himself. Maybe they all thought he knew, after all he always told the story as it was one of his favourite ones to scare the kids with.

It was utterly ironic. In hindsight, that explained how some of his relatives knew some things that he had been sure had been discussed in private. And it explained how some of his younger cousins had the horrendous ability to always sneak up on him. And how some fauntlings had managed to get to the strangest places.

Actually, it explained quite a lot. Bilbo was quite embarrassed to think back to some of the things he had balked at without realizing the truth.

But there had to be a way to control the shift and if Bilbo wanted to keep his hobbit secret just that, a secret, he would have to figure out how to consciously shift or prevent his shift.

It couldn't be that hard, could it? Right. But before that, he needed shelter and food.

With growling stomach he carefully picked his stuff back up and slowly begun to trod forward again. He needed a place to stay and he needed to find food and water. Controlling the shift wouldn't matter if he died of cold, starvation or dehydration.

 

It took him a long while until trees appeared on the horizon. It was the third day of being more a warg than a hobbit and in the meanwhile Bilbo had tried to experiment shapeshifting to his will. It wasn't impossible, but incredible exhausting. Emotions especially made for random bursts of shifting back and from and every conscious shift exhausted him so that he had to stop after only managing it two times. It also exacerbated the feeling of hunger gnawing at his stomach.

 

_Movement.Prey.Food. **Hunt.Rip.Tear.**_

 

Only when is maw was bloody and he had ripped into his meal did he come back to himself with renewed horror of his new form and the instincts that seemed to surface without warning.

For a moment Bilbo stared at the mangled mess between his paws before he inched away backwards, turned tail and tracked the way back where he had let his sparse things fall to the ground in his urge to hunt and kill and eat. A rabbit. It had been a rabbit, but Bilbo still felt sick to the bone. Anything could have made him give chase. Or anyone.

The things were strewn about and Bilbo whimpered as he tried to find it in himself to turn back to his hobbit form and gather it all up. His bloody muzzle left bloodstains on the ground and a few of his belongings as he tried to pick them up with his teeth.

 

Forlornly he let out a low howl, tearing at the ground in frustration as he couldn't seem to find the mental state to change forms.

He still felt too out in the open to simply stay put, but he was also reluctant to leave anything more behind which could help him survive in the wild.

 

It was a dilemma that was solved as his warg hearing picked up the familiar sounding stops that Bilbo had gotten used to during his travels.

Dwarrows. Dwarrows coming in his direction.

Bilbo froze on the spot, fur bristling and hackles rising. It was a fight between his hobbit nature and the warg nature, fight or flight. The hobbit didn't want to fight and didn't want to loose his things. The warg wanted to survive and would kill if provoked.

Thinking of the torn rabbit a few feet away, Bilbo made the decision and picked up the half empty and by now severely ripped backpack and turned tail to run again.

 

He would find other ways to survive. Things, after all, could be replaced. People, not so much.

He wouldn't kill any good folk.

 

He would learn to control this, and for that he needed to be far away from any whom he could harm.

 

Right now, running was all Bilbo could do.

 


End file.
